Dog Tags
by Shakespeare's Puppet
Summary: "Cammie wears dog tags. She wears them not because they look cool, but because wearing her father's was all she had left. They reminded her that even though he was gone, he was always in her heart." A story in which we realize that the simplest things can hold the most meaning.


**Title: Dog Tags**

**Rating: T, for no other reason than that it's the rating I keep all my stories at.**

**Genre: Family/Angst**

**Summary: "Cammie wears dog tags. She wears them not because they look cool, but because wearing her father's was all she had left. They reminded her that even though he was gone, he was always in her heart." A story in which we realize that the simplest things can hold the most meaning.**

**Officially Disclaimed **

**AN: So, leitores, I had this idea in my head. It involved dog tags, love, and family. This shows my view of the Morgan family, before and after the loss of Matt. It might be considered sweet to some, full of angst to others, and it might even be hopeful among even more. That is the way I wanted this piece to be portrayed. It was designed to be seen differently among people, and I hope you enjoy it. **

**Signed,**

**SP**

**P.S. Just to clarify, Blackthorne is in no way related to the Circle in this story. **

**Leitores: Readers in Portuguese**

**Current Inspiration Song: Let It Rain by Leona Lewis**

"Today, we see each other as equals, as brothers, as a family entering the world together. You leave this school with a purpose today, gentlemen, and with that purpose you will leave an imprint on the world, on the lives of people who will only remember you as a man, a man who forever made an impact on their life. And today gentlemen, when you receive your diploma, graduate, and start a new chapter of life and living, let it always be remembered that your start was made here."

The headmaster of Blackthorne Institute sat down after making his graduation speech to the senior class. Sitting in the middle of the alphabetically ordered crowd, Matthew Morgan knew immediately that his headmaster meant so much more with those words than he would ever be able to comprehend. So he watched as names were called and his family slowly made their way on and off stage, and knew that he would be saying goodbye to his brothers today.

"Matthew James Morgan," Drill Sergeant Hamilton called his name out, seeming emotionless, but Matt knew the man was hurting. He trained these boys, treated them like sons, and now they were leaving, running from their second home, maybe even a first home to some, going off and sending their own sons here one day.

Matt slowly stood up in his seat, and made his way to the stage, his face blank, seeming in a trance. He wordlessly took his diploma, shook his headmaster's hand, and walked down the stairs, trying to hide his excitement. Unable to hold it in any longer, he broke into a relieved grin and jumped into the air, pumping his fist. The crowd laughed, and Matt even heard a few chuckles from the stage as well. Joe stood up, an identical grin on his face, and they childishly air-fived, eliciting even more laughs from the crowd, who were smiling at the two boys antics. The Solomon and Morgan families, who were sitting in the front row right next to each other, simultaneously shook their heads and sighed.

Later, when families and classmates were mingling and laughing, Joe Solomon and Matthew Morgan were posing for a picture. They were grinning like little boys, and Joe had two fingers stuck behind Matt's head. Matt, in return, was putting Joe in a headlock, despite being the slightly smaller of the two.

Around their neck, each wore a pair of military dog tags.

Little Cameron Ann Morgan, no more than six years old, was running around in her backyard with her father, Matt Morgan. She was wearing her favorite green sundress, and her flyaway blond hair, identical to Matt's, was barely held back with a small green headband. Matt was wearing his dress clothes, and they had just come back from church. Cameron's mother, Rachel Morgan, was watching from the shaded back patio, sipping a glass of lemonade and smiling at the pair. They were the picture perfect American family, the embodiment of the American dream. And it really would be perfect, if it wasn't for the fact that any second, a CIA Land Rover would pull up in the driveway and take Matthew Morgan on a mission. His last mission.

Not a moment later, they heard the roar of an altered engine and they walked around the front of the house. Cammie was holding Matt's hand, and her head barely came up to his mid-thigh. Seeing the black car, the dark tinted windows, and the agent in the suit that was standing in her front lawn, she began to sob, and clutched her father's legs, preventing him from moving any farther.

"Don't leave Daddy! You can't leave again!" Cameron was hysterical, almost beyond consolation. Matt immediately bent down to her level and looked her in the eye, wrapping his arms around her shaking frame.

"I have to, Cammie-bear. You know I have to," he said. Cammie looked up at him, her eyes red and shining. "But I'll _always_ come back."

"Pinky-promise?" Cammie asked, holding up one small pinky.

"Pinky-promise," Matt held up his own much larger pinky and wrapped it around hers. Cammie carelessly reached up and rubbed her fist over her eyes. Matt seemed to think about something for a moment, then took Cammie's chin in his hand, raising her face to meet his.

"Can you watch something for me, Cammie-bear?" He asked. Cammie nodded furiously, big blue eyes wide. He smiled, then reached to his neck and pulled a chain off, then placed it around hers. "They're very important. Whenever you touch these, know that I love you, and that I'm always close to your heart. I'll _always_ love you, Cammie-bear. Don't ever forget that."

He then stood up and walked over to the man, who opened his car door for him. Before stepping into the vehicle, he turned around, smiled, and waved. Cammie and Rachel waved back. He stepped into the car.

As the car drove away, Cammie was still waving, clutching a pair of military dog tags in her fist.

Rachel Morgan hung up the phone, before sitting numbly on the couch. She began to sob, sob uncontrollably, body-wracking tears streaming down her face. A tired eight year old Cammie Morgan walked into the room, clutching a stuffed hippo in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other.

"Momm-" She yawned, before stopping abruptly and running to her mother's side. "Mommy? Mommy! What's wrong?" She shook her mother, who simply took her daughter into her arms and started wailing. Rachel calmed down long enough to tell Cammie what was so terrible to make her superhero cry.

"Daddy's not coming back Cammie. Daddy's gone," she whispered before breaking down again.

Cammie's eyes widened, a few tears leaking out of her baby blues. She pulled away quietly from her mother, kissed her softly on the forehead, then walked to her bedroom. Opening the door, she quietly read herself the bedtime story she wanted from her mother, before putting the book back on the shelf she got it down from. Climbing back under the covers, she allowed herself to cry. She cried for hours, shaking from sobs not unlike her mother's, which were still coming from the den.

During this time, she never let go of the military dog tags hanging around her neck.

Cammie stepped out of the limo and into the cold December morning. It was cloudy and windy, which matched her mood. Her mother and Aunt Abby followed behind. Her uncomfortable heels clacked on the gravel, and her short, now blond hair was blowing into her eyes. She walked briskly down the path, her black dress and coat not restricting her movements in the slightest. She wanted to get this over with.

Reaching the cemetery, she saw the people sitting in rows in front of an open coffin. The little cemetery was privately owned by the Morgans, and held the bodies and memories of her greats, great-greats, and those even older than that.

Reaching the covered place where the funeral was taking place, she watched as her father's friends and family rose in front of her, waiting for her to take her spot at the podium where she was set to deliver a eulogy, a eulogy that would result in her breaking down and having to preserve whatever dignity she had left. She took a deep breath before making her way to the front, her family following her to the front pew, before sitting down and listening to others make their speeches first.

They were the conformity speech often made about people at funerals, things said that would mean so much if it weren't repeated by ten different people. She heard the occasional snippet, though she wasn't paying much attention. She mostly stared at her father's coffin, with the American flag draped on top of it, the sides too high for her to see his face. She also heard the occasional laugh, and fought the urge to punch this entire crowd in the face, because _her father's death was not funny and it wasn't the time or place to make jokes and embarrassing comments about whatever the hell he messed up in life._ She would take a deep breath and close her eyes at every chuckle, and told herself that her father wouldn't want anyone to leave with a black eye, no matter how much _he _would laugh about it. But he was allowed to laugh, because he was her father and he _didn't deserve to die._

Her mother nudged her and she wordlessly got up and went to stand behind the podium. She looked out at the crowd and searched for anyone that might calm her down enough to even start her speech. She saw the Baxters, and Bex gave her a half-hearted smile and a small wave. She saw Joe, who she saw was trying to hold back tears for his best friend. She knew he was thinking the same thing: _Matt would've beat the crap out of him if he cried like a girl._ She saw her mother and Aunt Abby, who were both crying, but Abby managed to raise her eyebrow like, _what are you waiting for?_ She took a deep breath.

"Hello, everyone, my name is Cameron Morgan, and I am the daughter of the man in the coffin." She paused to wipe a tear from her eye. _Lord help me if I start crying before I say one thing about him,_ she thought.

"Matthew Morgan, or Daddy, was so much more than a man. He was a spy, for one, as well a loving husband, an absolutely wonderful father, and a man who protected a country willingly and without fault. And I'm pretty sure he passed on the way he would've wanted to: beating the crap out of the bad guys." This statement elicited a few laughs, and only then did Cammie see the humor in her statement. She supposed that laugh could pass unnoticed. " He protected me, he protected my family, he protected innocent people he didn't even know, and died he died doing what he loved. To me, this eulogy requires nothing more than that sentence."

She stepped down from the podium, before walking down to the coffin. She gazed at her father's closed eyes, his blond hair the exact same shade and texture as hers. She leaned down and pressed her lips to his cold forehead. And in that touch, a million memories rushed through her mind.

" I'll _always _love you, Cammie-bear."

"Pinky-promise."

"Know that I love you, and that I'm always close to your heart."

She smiled, wiped the tears from her eyes, and placed a chain around his body.

And up in heaven, Matthew Morgan smiled and touched the newfound dog chains that had suddenly appeared around his neck.

**AN: I think this showed a more mature side to my writing that my reader's hadn't seen yet. What do you think? I was crying when I wrote this, so hopefully you felt similar emotions and I passed along the message well.**


End file.
